


Little Red Riding Hood, But With These Idiots

by ThunderCant



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Body Horror, Come Eating, Misunderstandings, Multi, Oral Sex, Pegging, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Spencer Mansion Incident, Sharing a Bed, Sick Character, Threesome - F/M/M, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Sex, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 15:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19748221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderCant/pseuds/ThunderCant
Summary: Wesker, Jill and Chris go into the mountains for a brief patrol. The problem is, the weather is crap, Wesker is plotting and there's mud everywhere. What's one to do when they're stuck in a cabin, hurt and cold?Well, in his subordinates' opinions, a threesome. Because a threesome in the woods can never go wrong.





	1. It's all Irons' Fault

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sabubu91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabubu91/gifts).



> Listen. Listen. This was meant to be a PWP for Sabu but it ran the fuck away from me because I decided Wesker needed to have 3000 emotional problems. This whole fic is Wesker overthinking things while Jill and Chris go hehe ur nekkie
> 
> Enjoy.

Albert Wesker was not having a very good day.

Well, that was an understatement. To say that Wesker was not having a very good day was like calling the Pacific Ocean a swimming pool, or a meteorite a minor inconvenience. It would be more appropriate to say, for example, that Wesker’s day had gone from bad to apocalyptically terrible.

Never in his life did he think he would die to a godamn _wolf_. Less than a mile from the Spencer Mansion, of all places. It was like god was laughing at him.

But that’s getting ahead of things. Because one does not end up at the jaws of a wolf when they wake up in the morning. Unless they fell asleep in a wolf den, in which case they probably had some bigger problems in their life.

No, Wesker’s very bad day started, as it often did, with Chief Irons.

“Respectfully, I don’t see why I have to go to the mountains.” Said Wesker for the third time that morning, glaring through his sunglasses at the fleshy waste-of-space in front of him. “There haven’t been any reports, there’s barely been hikers- everyone’s waiting for the snow. There’s no need to waste time sending three STARS members up.”

“Says you, lazy ass,” Irons grumbled, stamping some form complete, “Raccoon City expects boots on the ground, especially in our tourist death-trap of a mountain. And the Mayor refused _my_ suggestion that we just tell ‘em to bring shotguns. Apparently, that’s inhumane.”

“Charming. But why do _I_ have to go?”

Irons levelled him with a glare. It wasn’t the glare of someone who’d been beaten in wits by their betters, which was the only way Wesker liked to be glared at- no, it was the glare of a ‘superior’ upset at being questioned on something that should have been obvious.

“Because,” Irons said slowly, “I’m sending Redfield out too.”

Oh. Right. Well, that was certainly something. Wesker frowned behind his sunglasses, trying not to tap his feet to the beat of his thoughts when-

“The Veterans are visiting?”

“Yes, well _done_ , Albert.” Wesker’s eye twitched. He really had to get that under control. Showing rage wouldn’t do, not unless he _wanted_ to show it. “The veterans are visiting, and Redfield has the emotional control of a toddler. Get him out of here and _maybe_ I won’t happen to find a whole load of unfinished reports that _you_ , the captain, should have been dealing with.”

Wesker’s whole face tightened until it was carefully neutral. “Are you threatening me, Irons?”

“I’m asking you to do your goddamn _job._ Umbrella or no, appearances are important, and I don’t think anyone’s going to be impressed if we end up in the papers. Can you imagine?” He snorted. “No, you’re going to take Redfield and jog up to the mountains for the day so that neither of you offend some eighty-year old into a heart attack. Hell, if you need to, drag someone else up on your little daytrip. Just keep him _out_ of the RPD for today.”

Wesker was reasonably certain that his skin would break with how tight all his muscles were. Perhaps he would be very kind and extend the twisting tightness to Irons’ face, crunching all his bones and fat and nerves until he was a thick sauce they could serve the Tyrants-

“Wesker?” Irons snapped his fingers and it took every ounce of self-control Wesker had pounded into him _not_ to rip them off. “You better get moving unless you want that paperwork.”

The smile was the worst thing about him, Wesker thought. Irons had the sort of smile that only someone with absolute certainty in their own pathetic position could have. Someone with so many skeletons in the closet that they could use them to decorate for Halloween. Wesker wanted to punch his teeth out and wear them like a necklace.

All he actually did was slam the door and walk out in a huff. One step to calm his breathing, another to set his shoulders straight, three, four, five until his fingers uncurled.

Right. Veterans visiting. Irons had probably mentioned it. Or not, it was awfully hard to tell- Wesker made a habit of tuning him out. Irons had even less worth hearing than the average person.

He opened the door to STARS and did not wince when it banged. The team turned towards him; Rebecca waving, Brad flinching, Barry rolling his eyes. They all set back to work quickly enough, except for one.

Chris Redfield, black sheep of STARS, was balancing a pen on his nose. Or to be more specific, Chris was _rebalancing_ a pen on his nose, having dropped it with the bang.

“Chris,” Wesker said, and the pen dropped again, “I’d like to speak to you.”

“Er- Yessir! Right away!” Chris stayed in his seat. Wesker sighed.

“In my _office._ ”

“Captain!”

Chris’ chair clattered as he darted to the office. Chris would never pass up the chance to avoid paperwork. Wesker strolled after him.

“Jill, you too.”

She gave a nod and kept typing. He didn’t know Jill all that well. Barry had recommended her for STARS, and her combat potential looked promising, to say the least.

He left her to finish and followed Chris. As expected, Chris was fidgeting- bouncing his leg, tapping his fingers, all the things that Wesker would never consider doing in front of a subordinate. Still, there was no point trying to beat around the bush- subtlety was wasted on men like Chris Redfield, who were mostly there to move rocks and look pretty. “Chief Irons wants you out of the building today.”

“Oh, what the _fuck_ \- he can’t even fire me in person?”

Wesker blinked. Oh. Right. Most people would take that badly, wouldn’t they?

“I mean that we- as in, you, me and Jill- are going on patrol today.”

Chris slacked into his chair with a groan, half-way to a pout when he met Wesker’s gaze. “Why wouldn’t you say that in the first place?”

“I thought that you may have at least a little faith in Chief Irons.” Wesker lied.

“Bullshit.”

“Chris, shut up, we can hear you outside,” came Jill’s voice, strolling inside and settling down, “anyway, what’s happening?”

“ _Irons,_ ” Chris spat, “wants me out of the building, _today._ ”

“Oh shit, he couldn’t even fire you in person? That’s worth shouting about.”

“No one is getting fired!” Wesker said, before it could go any further, “Well, no one in STARS. I can’t speak for the RPD as a whole. So if we could all calm down..?”

“Can’t blame me for taking it that way, captain,” Jill shrugged, “Besides, I’m plenty calm.”

Wesker chose to ignore her. “ _We_ are going out of the building today, because Chief Irons would like to ah- make sure that the tourist trails are up to scratch before the snow comes.”

Jill raised an eyebrow at him. Chris was still grumbling.

“…Oh, don’t give me that look, Officer Valentine.”

She raised the other one.

“…Fine, Chief Irons wants us- as in, me and Chris- to go out because he thinks I will ‘offend an eighty-year-old into a heart attack.”

Jill beamed at him. God, it was bad enough trying to keep all his emotions under wraps with the stress of STARS and Umbrella, never mind having to cover for Irons as well. The day he died was a day everyone would celebrate.

“I want us out of here by half-ten.” He paused. “Also, please pick up some lunch for yourselves. We’re probably going to be out for a while.”

Wesker knew in his heart of hearts that the rain was just because it was autumn, and rain happened in autumn, but that wasn’t going to stop him cursing Irons anyway. He swore as he stepped out of the car to meet a sodden Chris and Jill.

“Lovely weather,” he grumbled as a greeting. Chris pouted. He looked like a boy-scout forced into a camping trip. It was adorable.

“For ducks, maybe,” Jill said, squinting as the rain dripped down her face. “So, what do we do? Wander up and down? Stick flags in the mud?”

“If it’s bad enough. Chief Irons didn’t give us many orders outside of…looking after the death trap.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Chris grunted, “Couldn’t we just go home and _pretend_ we did some work?”

“No. We have a duty to ensure the trails are safe. Even if Chief Irons did suggest giving the tourists shotguns.”

“You sure he wouldn’t be the one hunting them?”

Wesker pursed his lips and did not even _consider_ laughing. Jill had no such restraint and giggled.

“Yes, _well_ \- if we take a trail each then we can meet up to discuss any warnings we feel should be up there. Any questions?”

“Do you want a donut?”

“I-“ Wesker pinched his brow, “Yes, fine, I would like a donut. We’ll meet back here in around three hours. And please, if you _do_ find anything suspicious, contact me at once.”

“Aye aye.”

“Yes Captain.”

“Good. I’ll be taking the Spencer trail. Chris, Pine Tree path, Jill, scenic route. There shouldn’t be any trouble today.” He paused. “And if all goes well, we may even be able to bring food back to STARS too.”

Wesker did not, in fact, intend to bring back food for STARS. As soon as Jill and Chris left (“I’m just making sure I’ve locked up properly, it’s the damn car-“) he sighed, grabbed some paper, and scrawled a note-

_Dear officers, nothing bad but have found signs of rare bird species. Just going to check if I’m right._

Which was a complete lie, but it would buy him a little time. Wesker flicked his eyes around, wiping off his sunglasses. The Spencer Mansion wasn’t too far, and it wouldn’t hurt to check up on it. The note should cover him for a little while; Chris and Jill would spend more time arguing about if it was suspicious or worth going after him than anything else.

He wasn’t looking forwards to traipsing through the mud though. The Spencer Mansion had long been hidden by trees and half-collapsed paths. No issue for a man like him, of course, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Wesker grimaced as the mud squelched beneath his boots. It was going to be a long walk.


	2. Albert Wesker Misunderstands How to go Birdwatching

Jill was sure Captain Wesker was up to something, because he was always up to something, even if it was just doing crosswords at his desk. Dragging them into the woods on an order from Irons, one that he hadn’t even tried to fight, though? Oh, that was definitely up to something. Wesker _never_ took orders from Irons.

“This is horseshit,” said Chris, when they both came back to find a note taped to Wesker’s car, “Since when has he given two shits about _animals?_ ”

Jill hummed agreeably. There was no point getting Chris riled up, he could do that fine by himself. But really, Wesker had never shown interest in animals, and tended to wrinkle his nose at the police dogs. So, either there was a secret hobby (and she couldn’t suppress a snicker at the idea; Wesker, in binoculars, watching birds with his sunglasses on) or he’d come up with some bullshit excuse to ditch them.

“Yeah, it’s shady.” She thought for a second. “But we should probably stay here just in case.”

“What?”

“You know. There’s always a chance he’s really into birdwatching. Or some legal thing about animal protection.”

“And he couldn’t have waited?” Chris snorted. “He probably went to do something more exciting. And get out of the rain.”

“Yeah,” Jill sighed, “Can’t fault you there.” She paused. “At least this means he’ll probably eat the donut.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

“Nah. I just wanna see if he’ll come back with frosting on his face. Now come on, let’s get in the car. It’s damn freezing.” She shoved the key in and it opened with a click. “Besides, he’s Captain Wesker. He’s probably fine.”

Wesker was not, in fact, fine.

For a start, the Spencer Trail was a muddy death-slide even on a good day. It was designed to be impossible, a horrific trail where people threw up their hands and went to take an easier walk. Only the most stubborn tourists would take the route.

Sadly, designed to be impossible also applied to Albert Wesker, who was face down in a pile of sodden leaves. He grunted, pushing himself up- one, two, three false starts where his hands just kept _slipping_ \- and immediately felt over his face. No sunglasses. Vision blurry. Hot spot, like a bruise- wonderful.

His pride burnt more than any injury- it just seemed to be scrapes. He could handle scrapes, and the mansion would have something to wipe himself off with.

There was a crunch underfoot. He looked down.

Well that explained where his sunglasses went. He picked them up, frown caught up in the reflections from fractured glass. He squinted and stopped that in its tracks. He did not get attached to objects. He did not feel _sad_ or _embarrassed_ or _nervous_ because he broke his sunglasses.

Regardless, the mansion couldn’t be more than a mile away. He swept away most of the mud and did not cringe at the feeling. It was slick and cold. Like the wintry clouds that loomed on the horizon had made themselves solid and thick, a siren for the coming weather. Wesker looked up.

One downside to the sunglasses was the darkness, usually a wonderful way to keep the sensitivity at bay, but it stopped him noticing a few things. Like, for example, that the clouds weren’t just grim from his sunglasses. They were thick and grey, stretching out like a threatening sheet.

He bit his lip. Snow hadn’t been forecast. There wasn’t supposed to be snow at his altitude until at least mid-November…

Wesker shook his head. No point worrying. His sunglasses were broken and the little bits of light that passed through the clouds jabbed into his eyes like white-hot pins.

“Fucking Irons,” he grumbled, stalking towards some blurry trees, “can’t even send us downtown…”

He walked and realised his second problem- without his _prescription_ sunglasses, he couldn’t see _shit._

It was one of those things he’d never brought up, content to let people think he was just playing cool. Never mind that without them the world blurred into an uncomfortable impressionists painting, all colours and shapes without definition to work with.

At least he wasn’t going to run into a tree. Little comfort in trying times. Wesker swore as he squinted, trying to make out _something_ beyond a tree, but there was nothing.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. There was something that he couldn’t see, but could definitely smell, and it curled his nose.

_Rot._

He wanted to smile and did not because it would be a sad day when he started smiling at the smell of rotting corpses. But rot, such strong rot could only mean that the absolute cesspit of a septic tank for the mansion was nearby.

Well, that or he was close to a bloated corpse. It wasn’t as if he’d be able to tell it apart from all the mud and leaves. He treaded cautiously, freezing up when he would hit a particularly slippery patch. It may as well have been frozen already, moving underfoot like it was alive.

He had tasted quite enough mud for one lifetime. Following his nose like a dog, he crept between the trees, pausing to let the wind go by. It was picking up. The forecast must have been wrong; there was snow coming, and it was coming quickly.

He scowled. The mansion was closer than the car, and he didn’t want to greet Chris and Jill caked in mud. Besides, they’d probably cut their losses and left. He wouldn’t blame them for that.

It twinged in his chest though, the thought of being left in the woods alone.

Or perhaps, not alone. Wesker was not a nervous man, but the mountains had a way of taking a smidgen of weakness and weaving it into an anxious web of ‘what was that’ and ‘what ifs’.

It didn’t help that he knew what was in the mountains. Even if the rational part of him was sure he could handle anything that may have broken out of the mansion, there was a disgustingly human part of his brain- the one that was squinting in the low light, face wet and dirty- that wanted to run.

He ignored it. There was no need to panic. There was never a need to panic.

“Jill?” Chris said, licking some sugar off his fingers, “You think we should try to radio Wesker?”

“Mmm…” Jill hummed, “C’mere for a second, you’ve got icing on your face.”

“Don’t change the subject- hey!” He sputtered as Jill licked the corner of his mouth, “Jill! Not the time!”

She was the picture of innocence, big eyes and smile, as she looked up at him. All a lie. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Tell me, maybe? Ugh, you’re the worst.”

“No worse than you! Licking your fingers like that!”

“ _Jill_ ,” Chris whined, “Seriously! Look at those clouds and tell me it’s not going to start snowing any second now.”

She sighed, opening the door and poking her head out. Huh, shit. She’d lost track of the time, enjoying the warmth of the car and teasing Chris. But he was right, the clouds were heavy and looming. She frowned.

“Do you have the time?”

“Just turning four.”

“Shit.” She swept the remaining crumbs off her shirt. “Yeah, fuck, radio him. We don’t have long until sunset.”

Chris’ eyes went wide. He fumbled for his radio before tapping, “Captain Wesker? Captain Wesker, are you there? Over.”

There was nothing but static in return. Chris pursed his lips. Jill had shed the flirty attitude and gone straight back to cold professionalism, scowling, like it was the radio’s fault that Wesker’s was broken.

“If it hits six and we don’t find him, we’ll call for backup,” she said, firmly, stepping out of the car. “He said he was on the Spencer trail, looking for birds. So we’ll have to go off the track.”

“That won’t be hard.” Chris shrugged. “That trail’s a nightmare anyway. I just hope he hasn’t hurt himself on the rocks or something. I don’t wanna explain to Irons how we had to get Captain Wesker _airlifted_ to hospital.”

“Fuck!”

Somewhere between breaking his glasses and tripping over for the fourth time, Wesker had dispensed with any sort of pleasantries and let the cold rage inside bubble over. It was a root, this time, that sent him face-first into some thorny nest that had fallen from a tree. He growled, pulling it out of his hair, wincing as it stabbed into his fingers. Little flecks of red beaded up, mingling with the mud. Ugh, he hoped that they had kept the mansion well stocked with antiseptic, there was no way _all_ of these would stay uninfected from luck…

The rain had slowed, at least, but now it hung in the air like a freezing blanket, dripping down his shirt and dragging the cold deeper inside him. It was only a matter of time before the snow bore down, full force. He needed to get to the mansion and _fast_ ; turning back would take even longer, and besides, he wasn’t sure he’d be _able_ to find his way back.

In the sunlight, and with his glasses, it would be so much easier. As it was, Wesker may as well have been totally blind.

He felt like a drowned rat. His fingers shook as he tried to prise the thorns out.

“Grr…”

Wesker froze.

“Rargh!”

He barely had time to turn around before a mangy, furry wolf tackled him to the ground, snarling and drooling. It clawed and snapped, furious-

_Smack!_

Wesker’s fist connected with it, scrambling up, scrubbing to get some vision back. Oh, it was not a normal wolf. It was a grotesque, muscled thing, fur so coarse it was more like fibreglass rubbing against his skin. Odd, he thought the mansion wasn’t experimenting with canines _this_ big-

No time to think. It launched at him again, eyes focused on his throat.

God, if he could just get some distance! He could shoot the damn thing dead and not have to worry, but his arms shook from cold, and his vision was blurry and-

_Slam!_

The wolf pinned him down. Its breath stank of rot.

Its claws dug into his wrists. So, this was it. Albert Wesker was going to die to a mangy wolf that he probably helped create, however indirectly.

If there was an afterlife, someone was going to _pay_ for not keeping him informed.

He scrunched his eyes shut, waiting for death to close over him.

At that point, two things happened. The first was that it started to snow, which was somewhat expected and Wesker did think added a lovely touch of melancholy to his savage demise.

The second thing was that the wolf shrieked and slumped to the side, dead.

Oh, there’d been a gunshot at some point, hadn’t there? The world seemed to slow down when death was looming, after all, Wesker barely registered that he could get up again.

Not that he had a chance. A stubbly, young face took the wolf’s place, calling out for Jill- oh. _Oh._

“Captain!” Said Chris, relieved. Then his face hardened into a nasty smile. “This doesn’t look like a man who’s been birdwatching.”


	3. Underboob Chafing is Never Worth it

Wesker was not an anxious man, most of the time. Even when he’d been attacked by a mangy, infected dog, he’d been more irritated than worried. Hell, he’d been more angry than _scared_. He was Albert Wesker, he didn’t give into things like fear.

That said, he’d never felt quite as anxious as he did when he was pinned on the forest floor by Chris’ judging smile, less than a mile away from the Spencer Mansion. The wolf’s corpse was so plainly _wrong_ too, there was no way this wouldn’t lead to a mess.

He’d have to kill them. If they asked any questions, Wesker was going to have to wait until their guard was down and shoot the pair of them through the head, drag their bodies to the mansion and pray that Irons wasn’t such an idiot that he couldn’t work out what had happened.

There were so many things he wanted to say. A quip of sorry, before planting bullets in their brains. A sharp remark about dogs.

What he actually said was, “This is the worst day of my life.”

He heard Jill snicker. “Got that right, Captain. Any injuries?”

Chris snorted. “He won’t tell the truth about that, you know what he’s like. C’mon Jill, let’s at least get him out of the weather.”

“Aye aye, Officer Redfield.”

She must have given him a salute or something, because Wesker suddenly had Chris’ hands around his wrists, pulling him up with a _schluk_. Wesker felt like a baby deer, tripping over his feet and the ground, landing face first in Chris’ chest.

In Chris’ big chest, under his tight shirt. While Chris’ hands were still on his wrist. Holding him up. Holding his whole weight.

He felt Chris laugh more than he heard it, rumbling through his skull. “Alright, you must be out of it. Come on Captain, stand up. Your legs can’t be that bad.”

Wesker wanted to argue that they could, in fact, be that bad, but that was an argument to have with himself late at night. Chris’ hands were so warm compared to his.

“Here, I’ll get you under the arms.”

And now they were both touching him. Wesker felt his brain fire off thousands of impulses- shrug them off, spit and hiss, and tried very hard to avoid the urge to lean into it.

It was _not_ the time.

“Captain? Hey, you still steady?”

“Uh,” Wesker said, intelligently. He hadn’t taken stock of his body yet. He knew he had bruises, probably a few scrapes but dang- he hadn’t realised just how weak he felt from it.

“Think I should carry him?”

“As long as he doesn’t have any broken bones. Captain?”

“ _Uh.”_

“I think he broke, Jill.”

“God damn it, Captain.”

That was probably right. Wesker was caught up in the eddies of his thoughts, swirling and whirling, like waiting for the dial-up to work. Apparently, that was enough to convince the pair that he probably was okay to be lifted. Chris had him on his back. Chris had him on his back, while Jill gave him a fond pat on the thigh, ignoring the corpse and being less than a mile from the mansion.

Heading towards the mansion. The snow wasn’t settling, thank god, but they were heading to the mansion and he’d have to kill them.

Wesker took a moment to himself, head slumping forwards and _whining._ Chris and Jill ignored him.

“You think this will take us back?”

“Not sure- it’s getting pretty dark.”

“Cold too. Seriously, Jill.”

“I am being serious. Wesker? Do you remember?”

“Ugh…”

“I haven’t forgotten about the bird watching. You’re gonna tell us about that.”

“Mmph.”

God, it was going to be a slow walk. The rocky walk was killing him as Chris slid and skid on the freezing mud, swearing and rocking Wesker around. Jill kept hopping in and out of his vision- sometimes there, sometimes ahead, sometimes behind. Scouting.

“Chris!” She called. “There’s a little hut over here!”

_Oh no._

They must have been on the edge of the compound, if Jill had found a hut. A groundskeeper’s or something, someone that had probably been swallowed up into the mansion. If they were lucky it would be falling apart. If they were unlucky, well…

There had to be more than one dog.

Chris jogged to catch up, finding the shack. There was a fine dusting of snow starting to cake the windows. Wesker squinted, peering past Chris’ head to try and work out which part of the mansion it was-

The door creaked open and bathed everything in a dim glow. The lights hummed and Wesker hissed, eyes assaulted again, bowing his head until the pinprick pain went away. Chris lingered outside, lowering Wesker down, even if he kept an arm around him for stability. He was sweeping his eyes over him, intent and serious, while Jill poked inside.

“All clear. Looks like this is some skiers lodge.”

Chris stepped in with a low whistle, dragging Wesker alongside him. His eyes adjusted slowly, even if everything was still fuzzy- an area for boots, some skis, and a lot of dusty shapes that may have been coats.

“We can stay here to check you over,” Jill said, shucking off her soaking coat, “and maybe warm up…it got cold fast.”

Wesker wobbled. The heat was a brand on his frigid skin, and he was awfully aware of how sticky and wet his clothes were.

“C’mon Captain, there’s a sofa. We gotta make sure that thing didn’t bite you.”

They couldn’t have been too far from the mansion, but nowhere in the mansion could have been a ski hut. Maybe someone had set it up nearby? Fuck, Irons should have been keeping track, he was going to murder him-

“Wesker?” Chris snapped his fingers. “You didn’t hit your head, did you?”

Shit. Chris was talking. Had he? God there was far too much to keep track of now.

“I fell…earlier. On some mud.”

“While you were birdwatching?” Jill shot over her shoulder. Wesker bit his lip.

“I was not _birdwatching._ I was seeing if there was a _protected species_ around.”

“Sounds like birdwatching to me, Captain.”

Wesker scowled. It was ruined when his teeth started chattering. The warmth of the room wasn’t doing much against hours in the dipping temperature, especially because his clothes were still wet.

“I think we’ll have to get you out of these,” said Chris, tugging at Wesker’s collar. “If you’re not blue under that dirt…”

Oh, he was _not_ doing that.

“I am not getting naked in the _woods_.”

Chris clicked his tongue. He started to smile again, that hard and dangerous smile that suggested he absolutely hadn’t left dog-shit on Chief Irons’ desk.

“Who said anything about naked? You can keep your undies on, Captain.”

“ _That’s inappropriate!_ ”

Chris snickered, but backed off. Wesker curled into himself and set his face into a harsh snarl, uncaring of appearances anymore. They’d be dead anyway, dead by the time the snow stuck to the ground.

The world went dark and Wesker sputtered. He did not shriek.

And if he did, Chris’ shout was much louder.

“Jill!”

“What?”

“ _Jill!_ ”

Jill cackled next to him. The little sofa creaked under her weight, and he felt the prickling warmth from her body bleed into him.

“Really though, you should get out of those too. I don’t know about you but I’m cold as hell.”

He heard shifting. Rustling fabric. The clunk of heavy boots, kicked off, carelessly.

Wesker dared to poke his head out of the towel and got a face full of _skin_. Jill was already pulling off her shirt, lacy bra patchy from the rain that soaked through, and he could see the waistband was loose on her pants- she was already preparing to take them off. Her black underpants peeked around her hips, slim and strong, bursting to get out.

He gulped. She shook out her hair and he moved to look at Chris, with his strong muscles and tan skin and tiny scars and _unfairly_ tight shirt.

That was sticking to his skin. While he shucked his pants off. Exposing his boxers, grey and sadly damp and _bulging_.

“Ugh, wet undies,” said Chris, because God had decided this was the day that Wesker had to atone for all his sins and let Chris read his mind. “Wish I brought spares…”

“In all fairness,” said Jill, who was _unhooking her bra strap_ , “underboob chafing isn’t worth my modesty or whatever.” She was looking at him with a frankly _devilish_ smile. “Captain? Do you mind?”

“Agh…I…no…”

Wesker prayed to whatever god was watching that he wasn’t blushing. He couldn’t be blushing. Blushing was for lesser men that slavered over young women’s bodies, eager for just a tease of flesh. He was not weak. He was _not_ weak.

Jill’s bra came off and Wesker was so, so weak. The exaggerated sigh of relief, the quick shift that went her trousers into a pool at her feet, all of it was taking the blood out of Wesker’s brain and warming him up in the worst kind of way.

Jill stretched, mercifully grabbing a towel and wrapping it around herself. He barely held back a groan.

Wesker couldn’t take much more of this. They were somewhere near the Spencer Mansion, and while Chris and Jill were inevitably having _personal relations_ while they waited for their clothes to dry, he would gut them.

Chris finally pulled his shirt over his head and the only thing that was getting gutted was Wesker’s dignity. Irons couldn’t have known this would happen. That didn’t mean Wesker wasn’t going to blame him anyway. He felt his jaw try to drop and fists clench, body and mind arguing as he took in Chris Redfield’s chest. He was broad and pretty, and he may have had bigger tits than the actual woman in the room. They looked like they could _bounce_ , for fuck’s sake. Wesker couldn’t even look somewhere safely. On one side, there was Chris, with his cute tousled hair and tantalising treasure trail that Wesker was determined to stop following. It was so hard, though. Chris’ groin and tits had their own gravity, and Wesker’s eyes stopped listening to him as soon as his sunglasses broke.

That said, Jill was not any better. She might’ve been worse. In uniform, she always looked deceptively soft- the only person smaller than her in STARS was Rebecca Chambers. Outside of it, it became clear that the _only_ reason she looked less dangerous was the poor fit of an officer’s clothes; Jill had muscles crawling under her skin, sleek and lean and dangerous, and enough heft around her hips and chest to drive anyone mad. God, he wanted a handful of those. She had rosy pink nipples, already hard from the chill outside, and her hair clung to her face.

Wesker was the only one wearing clothes and he felt more naked than ever.

They looked like a pair of devils in the night, waiting to take him to hell. Standing there, with the promise of death looming over them (even if they didn’t know it) and holding out their hands.

“Captain, you’re gonna make it difficult for everyone if you stay in those gross things. C’mon, we’re all friends here.”

Wesker wanted to tell her that they were not, in fact, friends, and that this was highly unprofessional. What came out was, “uh…”.

Jill rolled her eyes.

“If you don’t strip, I’m gonna strip you myself.”

That snapped Wesker’s world back into perspective.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

She beamed at him.

“Five.”

“Jill.”

“Four.”

“I-I am _not_ playing this game.”

“Three.”

“ _Jill_ ,” his voice turned pleading. Strangling them to death would be so much more difficult than just shooting them. He really, _really_ didn’t want to be without a gun.

“Two.”

He was going to kill her. He was going to kill both of them, as soon as she hit the end of her stupid countdown, and then he could put the whole day behind him.

“One…and…zero!”

That plan went out of the window, because Chris’ big, bare arms had gathered him up in a hold and pressed him against his big, bare chest.

“Gotcha!” He said, wickedly, while Wesker squirmed, “you’re not staying in that stuff!”

“Chris!”

Jill cackled, strolling up to unbutton his shirt while Wesker hung there like a misbehaving cat. God he wished he had claws. He seethed.

“I,” he hissed, desperately ignoring how his teeth still chattered, “am going to _murder_ both of you.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Captain,” Chris said as Jill unlaced his boots, “you keep telling yourself that.”


	4. This is the One Where the Porn Happens and Wesker Doesn't Get a Goodnight Kiss

There was a tiny, traitorous part of Wesker’s brain that was _enjoying_ himself and he hated it.

He’d had to stop struggling, eventually, because he was sore and worn out, even if he’d glared at Jill the whole time she fussed with his clothes. Then there’d come the inevitable _medical inspection_ , where he thankfully came out with nothing more than a few scrapes, one nasty cut, and more bruises than he could count.

Then had come the wash. The ski lodge had a tiny bathroom that even Jill looked too big in, and fitting all of them in at once was like playing twister. Chris ended up half squished against his back while Jill curled awkwardly around their sides, like the world’s worst snake. Wesker had to hunch over, almost into a little ball, to fit them all in.

He was glad Jill was at his side, because he wasn’t sure he could handle having a slick, naked Chris at his back and Jill’s tits in his face. It was bad enough having _Jill_ in his face.

He scrunched his eyes shut as Chris rubbed shampoo into his scalp and ruined his hair. He doubted Chris had ever spent more than five minutes scrubbing his hair or doing more than slicking it up with some god-awful gel. It would be like petting a hedgehog, he was sure.

“Your hair’s a lot thicker than I thought it was, Captain,” Chris said, “Why do you always slick it back? It’d look nice messy.”

Wesker grumbled at him in response. Suds were dripping down his face. He’d had enough humiliation for one day, he didn’t need soap in his mouth to top it off.

Jill puffed before she shifted her weight, and it vanished off Wesker. Chris squawked and dug his fingers into Wesker’s head. Ignoring how Wesker hissed, he shouted, “Jill!”

“What? It’s just the bottom of your back.”

“A little warning would be nice!”

Oh wonderful, now they were getting _touchy_. Served Chris right.

His hands left Wesker’s head, and his warmth left his back. Wesker fumbled for one of the washcloths to get the suds off, blindly feeling, and clashed with smooth skin.

“Oooh?”

God fucking damn it.

“Someone pass me a washcloth, I don’t want chemical burns in my eye.”

“It’s no more tears stuff, it should be alright.”

“Doesn’t work like that, Chris. Why do they have kid shampoo here, anyway?”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying to reassure his Captain.”

“I can blame you two for a lot of things,” Wesker muttered. He tried to wipe the suds off with his thumbs, only for a smaller hand, caked in cool, wet fabric, to clean his face off.

“There, better?”

“Hmph.”

Chris sighed and settled back over him, hands sweeping soap over his chest. The suds turned an awful brown as all the mud started to vanish, firmly cleared off. It was almost soothing, really- Chris had big hands, firm hands, that were gently working around the bruises. Jill had slipped down to his legs, the flirting forgotten for a moment, frowning at the cut over his shin. She pressed lightly on the bruising and Wesker flinched, jerking his leg out of her grip.

“Checking the swelling, Captain. You’re lucky this didn’t break.” She clicked her tongue, thoughtfully, pouring warm water over it until all the suds were cleared. “That should keep the dirt out, at least. There should be some bandages in here, anyway. I can’t imagine there aren’t.”

Wesker’s hissing died away, as did his frown, as the wash went on. Minute by minute, the tension melted, even when he was sure they couldn’t be getting more dirt off. He even bent forwards without a peep, letting Chris comb through his hair to get all the shampoo out.

But they were still in the bathroom, naked, and it didn’t feel like anyone wanted to move. His leg throbbed, but it was a half-pain, distant, like a headache he hadn’t quite woken up to. Chris’s hands rested on his hips, rubbing circles into his skin. Jill’s smaller fingers were dipped into the hard muscles of his thighs, feeling over knots and bruises. Like a massage. More intimate somehow, because either one of them could still kill him.

His head dropped forwards, so he could meet Jill’s eyes. The touching had stirred something alright, something that had been brewing since they came inside. It wasn’t like they’d made a secret of what they’d like to do.

His dick wasn’t hard, not yet at least. He shivered.

Jill broke first, or maybe she was just impatient. She slinked up, sliding one hand onto Wesker’s neck, and kissed him. Not hard. Nothing more than a gentle peck on the lips, almost something that could be played off as a joke between friends.

It was enough though. Wesker whined when she pulled away, one of his hands twining with hers as she leant over his shoulder to kiss Chris, a little deeper, a little more passionate.

Jealousy started bubbling up, a kettle boiling over, until Chris tilted his head back to kiss him too. Slow, sweet, soft. Enough to make him melt, to take the cold edges off his personality and his pain. Chris buried his hand in the damp strands, stroking him until Wesker’s mouth dropped open and Chris could dip inside. Rubbing the roof of his mouth, to the point that when Jill ran a finger down his spine, he startled. She giggled at him.

“What?”

“You look like a deer in the headlights!”

“Jill,” Chris chided, “be nice.

She just laughed again, but her strokes did slow. Carefully, calmly exploring his body, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth when he pulled away for air, always too quick to catch. Chris would always bring him back with a gentle tug, a hand on his jaw, on his hair, swallowing him up. He started trembling at some point and couldn’t stop.

They were so much more vibrant without the sunglasses, even if he couldn’t pick out all the little details, the freckles and moles and scars. He marvelled at it, how pale, how desaturated he was in comparison.

Jill was like a snake, sliding around, until she ended up coiled and ready to strike at his feet. Her hands slid up his legs until she was on her knees, face to face with his soft cock, blinking up at him. Chris chuckled and suddenly, they were all on the floor- Chris’ legs either side of him, Jill stalking up to claim him with a kiss- a proper one, this time, long and loving, even if she did bite his lip. Her breasts pressed against his chest, full and soft and slippery. Chris guided his hand between them, and suddenly, he couldn’t help it. Wesker squeezed and relished her little gasp, other hand trailing down until he reached her ass.

Payback. He gave it a slap, and Jill shrieked.

“Captain!”

“You started it,” he said, pleased when she pouted, and Chris laughed. He rubbed the pink print in apology, which settled her soon enough- even if she did spend a good while kissing Chris.

“That’s for being mean.” She said when she returned, taking his face to swallow him up in kisses.

“And you haven’t been being mean?”

“Of course not. If I were being mean,” she said, grinning, fingers dancing down his chest, his hips, until she was between his legs, “I wouldn’t do this, would I?”

Before he could ask what she was doing- even if he had some suspicions- Jill licked a stripe up his cock.

Wesker froze. One hand wrapped around his cock, holding it steady while Jill’s sweet, pink tongue lapped at his head. Like it was a treat to play with, kissing up the shaft with a hot, open mouth, sucking and occasionally pulling away altogether, just to blow air on the wetness and make him shiver. Then she’d dive right back in, teasing and tormenting.

And Chris would talk to him.

“She’s gorgeous, huh?” He said, smiling against Wesker’s neck, “you know, if you’d come to the showers more often, you might’ve caught us once or twice.”

“Nngh?”

“That right, Captain,” he murmured, stroking down his chest to take his nipples in hand, rolling and squeezing them like there was anything there worth touching, “it’s just so hard to find time to unwind. I don’t know how you do paperwork all day, without finding some way to relieve the tension.”

His hands were calloused and rough over Wesker’s nipples, drawing little gasps out, moving out of time with Jill. “What would you have done, huh?”

“Aah-“

Jill cut across his thoughts, sucking the head into her mouth, silky and hot and welcoming. God, he couldn’t decide where his attention should go- Chris was pinning him against his chest, erection building, nudging onto Wesker’s bare skin. His skin prickled with lust, mouth dipped open, panting.

Jill let go with a lewd pop, grinning at him. “Hey, Chris, you know that thing I did to you last time?”

That was all the encouragement Chris needed. Suddenly his head was in Chris’ lap, legs over Jill’s shoulders. He could smell the sweat on Chris, the desperation building in the other man, but he couldn’t care. He panted, eyes lidded, hardly trying to snap Jill into focus.

Chris kept up his gentle groping. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna like this, trust me.”

He didn’t have much time to think, now that Jill had her attention back on his cock, finally stirred into hardness by the motions. Her hands were smooth in spite of the callouses, rubbing along the shaft until one finally dipped to his balls, holding them steady, almost like a warning. She swallowed his head once more, mouth still welcome, still warm. Her tongue danced a hot, heavy rhythm over his cock, rubbing the head, bobbing down deeper when it tickled the veins, pulling back so slowly Wesker though he might die. Jill had to be teasing him. She had to.

Her other hand, the one that had been holding him at the base, started to snake. It moved past his balls, slowly stroking the soft skin behind them, and finally danced a track up to the crack of his ass. Her thumb rubbed circles into the thin, warm patch of skin, and it felt _good_. Not the crackling, electric pleasure of the blowjob, but a slow build, the kind that made him want to grind down for more, to make her stop teasing.

He felt her start toying with his rim and squeaked. Chris met his eyes, dipping down for a kiss, one hand coming to cup his face. A balm against his raw nerves.

“Relax, she’s not gonna hurt you,” Chris said between kisses, his tongue slower and sweeter. Wesker whined, brushing against Chris’ stubble each time he leaned down. The contrast between them was driving him away from words and thoughts, Jill with her now slick finger, Chris chapped lips on his face, the inferno of pleasure she made with her tongue and voice, humming as if to soothe him while she pressed her finger past his tight muscles. Chris didn’t have to push past anything, Wesker welcomed his rough, scratchy jaw against his palm, against his face, his rich tan harsh against Wesker’s flushed skin.

The finger inside him started moving. Chris held him firm. Jill was pumping slowly, in and out, and Wesker’s mind went haywire- this was what they did in the showers. What they did when they came back red faced, where Chris would have to hide his moans and Jill would have to tease him, just tease the tip of his thick cock with her tight mouth and agile tongue. God, maybe she was starting him off the way she started herself off, relaxed, finger popping out of her mouth and into her ass or her pussy. Either one would be beautiful, he knew it. Just as tight and warm as her mouth was around his dick, making up for the lack of the tongue and humming with her words, rolling up against him, pushing him down to chase her own pleasure.

Wesker whimpered. That thought went straight to his cock. Jill must’ve been able to feel that.

God, but Chris would be there. Chris parting his cheeks so Jill could slip her fingers inside him, too, and he’d be so tight. Tighter than Wesker, even. Those muscles couldn’t just waste away around an ass; he’d sigh and moan and wince as Jill put more inside, rocking his hips back onto her while Wesker knelt in front of him and sucked him off. If he rolled over he could suck Chris off, because Chris’ erection was standing loud and true, and it was digging into his back.

Another finger at his ass, probing inside. Another inch in her mouth. Wesker’s toes curled, desperately willing his hips to still.

Jill pressed down and Wesker gasped, back arching, almost knocking into Chris’ head. Jill popped off him with a big smile, fingers still in his ass. Still pumping, slow-motion compared to his hard heart-beat.

She curled them again. Wesker clenched his jaw.

“Captain,” she said, mildly, twisting her arm a little awkwardly so she could kiss him. Sweeter, slower than she had earlier, nipping his lips gently until he let her in. He could feel Chris chuckling.

“I’m starting to feel a little left out here.”

Jill laughed. Her fingers pulled out of him, and Wesker clenched around the empty space, arching up for more contact. He ended up with his face in Jill’s breasts.

He heard her kissing Chris, again, more of that deep and passionate movement that made jealousy twinge in his belly. No, they were all doing…this, he supposed, together.

Wesker ran his hands up Jill’s smooth belly, over her breasts and back again. She shivered so nicely under them, his fingers oversized and spidery compared to her slim waist. He could fit them between her ribs, clasping over them, pressing kisses up her sternum. He couldn’t stop touching her, mouth on her chest and belly, hands sweeping over her smooth and scarred skin, dipping into the dimples on her back and massaging her ass. Sliding his fingers between her legs until he found it; her pussy wet and slick like it had been waiting for him, folds parting easily to expose her clit. It was Jill’s turn to gasp, pulling away from Chris for a moment, while Wesker squinted up at her.

Very innocently, he ground his thumb against it. She smirked at him before returning to Chris, and Wesker slid his long fingers through her folds. It really was like silk, better than silk on his fingers. Dripping over his fingers, tantalising, ripe fruit.

He felt for her hole and it welcomed his fingers like a long lost friend, a hot hug on a summer’s day, squeezing around him as he thumbed her clit, circling it slow before he would press harder, rolling against it. He delighted in all the noises, her gasps and quiet moans, even Chris’ little whines of impatience.

When she pulled off Chris, he pulled his fingers out, dripping with slick. He watched Jill follow it as it dripped into his mouth, her face flush, sweat starting to drip. The room was flooded with lust.

Chris lifted him up, again, so that his erection was flush with Wesker’s ass, rocking forwards gently, nudging against him. Something flew past his head and Chris caught it easily, but before Wesker could ask, he had Jill in his lap. His cock sandwiched between their bellies when she leant forwards to kiss up his neck, sucking dark marks closer to the base.

“Wesker,” she said, sultry and dark, “Captain. _Albert._ ”

The name sent a shudder down his spine, made his cock jump at how _personal_ it was. He felt Chris smile into the other side of his neck, nipping the skin, kissing it, letting his teeth graze the flesh. Like Wesker was a meal he was intent on devouring, tearing right down to the bone, only teasing him so that the fear would taste sweeter. His stubble felt more like tiny pins waiting to dig into Wesker’s flesh, because _Albert_ , in Jill’s low voice, had made things so much more personal.

She was hovering over his cock now, rubbing her own clit to relax herself, eye to eye with him.

“You want us?”

And Wesker, so out of his mind with prickling, torturous lust, nodded.

She sunk onto him with one easy motion, sighing as the warm, wet embrace of her cunt wrapped around his cock, slicking it up, consuming it like it was a sweet treat she’d been denied. But he couldn’t pay attention for too long, because Chris had popped a cap off of _something_ , and now his own prick was wet and waiting, bumping against Wesker even as he felt thick, strong fingers press lube around his own hole.

“ _Albert_.”

And there it was again, the intimacy, hitting him in the guts like a sucker punch. Chris’ warm breath puffing against his ear as he was slicked up, lined up, like a toy waiting to be played with.

“Still want us?”

And this time he managed to breathe out a _yes_.

It was like the floodgates of sensation opened, his rim burning as Chris inched past untrained muscles, so tight and fluttering over such a thick cock, his own strangled with pleasure as Jill ground down on him, clenching and squeezing. They may as well have wrapped their hands around his throat, ploughing in completely out-of-synch, a devil’s dance where every step was wrong, and so, so right. It was overwhelming, and he felt like he was walking on a knife edge of pleasure-pain, endless, fragile and just waiting to break.

Wesker threw back his head and moaned, unsure of where to move or what to do- he couldn’t keep pace without throwing off one of them, the floor was still slippery with water. Every time one of them clenched or rubbed or throbbed, all his thoughts vanished. He was frost on a window just waiting to melt, and they were the sun. They surrounded him. They were touching him, Jill biting along his collarbone, pulling one of his hands, disturbing his balance so she could chase her own pleasure faster, so she could grind on his fingers. Chris on his chest, pulling his nipples, rubbing them, coaxing so many noises that he’d never dream of making. Stabbing so sharply inside, cockhead brushing his prostate and making him cry out for them. His face was wet. Everything was wet, though if it were sweat or fluids or the remnants of their wash, he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. He could barely register that he was human.

All that was left of Albert Wesker, rocked and fucked out between two bodies, was a bundle of white-hot nerves and unstable emotions, ready to collapse. Ready to melt. He didn’t even know what he was going to do, except that if it _stopped_ he would die, cease to be, just implode.

He came first, Jill clenching around his cock just as Chris brushed over his prostate, hot and hard. Someone pulled his strings too tight and they snapped, spurting into Jill’s cunt as he spasmed, crying out, crying their names, forgetting everything outside of the spaces where their bodies met.

That was when the haze fell over him. He shuddered. He was nothing more than a useless body now, oversensitive and overwhelmed while they kept fucking into him, Jill shamelessly rutting against his hand while she bounced on his dick and Chris biting into his shoulder, a beast taken by instinct. It wasn’t long before he came, deep inside Wesker, like he owned him. He felt Jill arch up and gasp more than he heard it, so tight on him, her fingers needle-sharp on his cool, sensitive skin.

They slumped together, nothing more than dogs seeking comfort in the night. Wesker couldn’t bring himself to look away from the awful, flickering bathroom light, no matter how much it hurt his eyes. Their usual sensitivity had crashed through the rest of his body, and it felt like the whole thing was being assaulted from all angles.

He still winced when Chris pulled out, cum dribbling out of his ass. Sticky and awful, dripping onto the floor like pus from an abscess.

Jill gave him a final kiss before she pulled off, not that he responded. The fun had ended. His mouth was slack and soft against her, still demanding, still wanting. Surely she’d had her fill. Surely they both had, and they would leave Wesker to gather himself up until he could stab them. Jill gathered some of his cum on her fingers like no one was watching, looking thoughtful.

Wesker didn’t protest when Jill guided him forwards, her hands in his hair, face to her slick and sticky cunt. His own cum dripped out of her. Chris’ still dripped out of him, trailing down his balls.

“Be a good boy, Captain,” Chris murmured against his ear, “she was very nice to you earlier, after all.”

The words rattled in his head. Jill held her cum-covered fingers to his mouth, and Wesker obliged, parting his lips to lap it all off her, ignoring the bitter, salty taste. What had he been thinking tasting her earlier? He must have been sick. He hadn’t wanted it. He was going to murder them and leave their corpses to rot.

He sucked her fingers clean and shivered when Jill stroked his hair, pleased when he dove in. He sucked at it, dipping his tongue in to taste himself and her slick mingling together. It was disgusting. He was disgusting. The mansion was less than a mile away, and if he hadn’t been able to pull himself out of a lusty haze for long enough to get there then-

His head ached at the thought. He’d made a mistake. He hadn’t been thinking.

“Albert?” Her voice floated in, hand still in his hair, petting him, “you don’t have to get everything. It’s alright.”

It was definitely not alright. The pain in his leg was nothing compared to the cold wire of disappointment cutting through him.

“Chris,” she said, “I think we went too far.”

“Uh- oh, oh shit. Albert? Or, uh, Captain?”

It was a bit late for Captain. Captain would have been good before the mission. Before the god forsaken birdwatching note. Before getting dragged into a ski lodge in walking distance and letting himself be fucked. The world fuzzed into even worse shapes.

“Shit- he’s crying- Chris, can you help me lift him? Come on Wesker,” She said, drawing him up to her chest, “You’re way lighter than you look.”

He felt like a broken toy. Moved around, malleable but unable to be fixed without touching all the sharp parts. And his face was still wet, wet from _tears_ of all things.

It was like turning back to the start. He was stuck between them while they wiped him down, gingerly and gently, but this time there were towels. Drying him off, then wrapped around him. He must have looked a fool, pulled around by a woman a foot shorter than him and her meathead fuckbuddy.

But that wasn’t fair. He could have stopped them. He could have declined the kiss, stalked out and bandaged himself up. But he’d _wanted_ something, some contact, and now he paid the price.

Chris got into bed first, taking up most of the space. Jill shoved Wesker in too, the damp towels discarded, before sliding in herself, pushing up against his back. Everything in this cabin was too small. It was probably an old shed someone took advantage of, and that made it worse.

Worse, because he’d gotten fucked on the mansion grounds. So close to dignity. To running away from any of this nightmare.

Chris’ hands slipped over his shoulder and pulled him in close. So close that he was tucked under his chin and he could hear every breath he took, every steady heartbeat soothing away the turbulent tide of his mind. Jill squished close too, close as she could be- he felt her, warm and cosy at his back, soothing the muscles.

“Weren’t we meant to be going home?” Chris murmured, stroking over the hickies he’d left on his shoulders. He wasn’t talking to Wesker though, he was talking to Jill. Wesker was just left to listen.

“We’ll have to wait. It’s too dark. The snow picked up too.”

“Mmm. Think there’s snacks in here?”

“There were bandages, and it’s a ski lodge. I can’t imagine there’s nothing.”

Chris hummed and said nothing in response, soothing over Wesker’s tense back, lulling him into a doze. His eyes slid shut. He heard them talking, still, but it was like listening from the bottom of a river. All he could do was feel.

Jill was warm, and she rested one of her hands over his, thumbing the knuckles and the bandaids they’d used to cover his cuts. Her feet were at his thighs, because she’d pulled herself up to talk, and they kept bumping him.

Chris was solid, his fingers graceless but comforting as they carded through his hair and over his neck, soft and smooth and warm. He had his other arm slung over both of them, like he was ready to beat the cold away.

“Think it’ll melt?”

“I’d be happy if it didn’t freeze over.” She shuffled back down, so that she could rest her head. “Good night, Chris.”

“Night Jill.”

He heard them kiss. Just a short, light thing. It was an adrenaline shot for his fears.

 _You were a warm body and nothing else_ , it hissed, _and they’ll never give you more than that._

He seethed. He was going to wake up before the sunrise and throw them to the experiments, and then bathe himself in bleach. God knew he needed it. And if he sucked a sharp breath in when one of them cuddled him closer, well, that was no one’s business but his own.


	5. If You Suspect You Have Sepsis, Just Run Into the Woods, It'll Be Fine

The sun could, generously, have been said to poke through the windows of the shitty ski lodge they found themselves in. It was more like the sun knocked once and left, because even though it was well past sunrise when Wesker finally opened his eyes, the cabin was still dark.

And somehow, it was even colder.

His teeth chattered, even when he clenched his jaw to stop it, little puffs of fog coming out with each breath. The shed was absolutely _freezing_ \- now that his god-awful vision was coming back into its admittedly terrible focus, he could see it- frost inside the windows, seeping through the wood and splintering it.

The bed was empty. Wesker growled. The shack was totally silent aside from his own breathing; no padding feet or gushing water. No low conversation. Not even another human’s breath.

Ditched. Fantastic.

Well, fine. The two of them were corpses walking, anyway, they could wait for him to stand up and get his bearings.

Of course, as soon as he stood up, he almost immediately dropped. His leg _throbbed_ , like it had its own heart. Like it had its own furnace, bubbling up. He scowled as he peeled off the haphazard bandages-

And was hit with _rot_.

His leg was red. Well, that was an understatement. His leg looked like he’d filled it with the worst mouldy cheese he’d ever been fed, and then rolled around in some dye for good measure, scabbed over in a technical sense. It wasn’t oozing, much.

Much.

It stank though. Disgusting. No wonder the other two had left, he wouldn’t want to stay next to someone with that sort of wound.

…As much as he wished one of them had stayed, so that he would wake up warmer. Their clothes were gone, their boots were gone, and it looked like the shack had never been stayed in.

Not even his clothes were where they left them, instead folded up by the half-hearted fire they’d set up. It had gone out hours ago.

His leg demanded attention. He needed to deal with that, first. It needed to be cleaned. It needed to be rewrapped. He needed to get dressed.

He wanted to crawl back into bed and scream into a pillow.

But there’d been more than enough humiliation for one day, and regardless of how much he _wanted_ to stay inside and be petty, he _needed_ to move. One step at a time. The bathroom-  
  
_Salt on his tongue and an empty ache in his ass as the reality of what he’d done crashed down_ -

-was out of the question. There would be antiseptic elsewhere. He hopped over to the little drawers, to the cupboards, even between the snapped skis- nothing.

He wasn’t going in the bathroom.

His leg would be fine, he told himself. The mansion would have his dead ‘allies’, and they might’ve been eaten already.

He grabbed a pole, just in case. Inched his leg into his now-dry trousers, even if they were still crusted with mud and blood. The wound screamed for him to go back to bed, and he hissed when the fabric caught on a sticky scab and ripped it off. Something warm dripped down his leg.

It was nothing. It could wait. Whatever had crawled into the festering gap wouldn’t spread before he could enter the main building- unethical research paid off, sometimes, and he was sure there’d be something in the building that could hold off the disease before it progressed to something worse.

Worst came to worst, he’d clean it out himself, with fire and a knife.

It wouldn’t, though. Wesker gritted his teeth, willing his clammy hands to stop shaking as he pulled his shirt on, pulled his boots on, even if it took him far longer than it should have to lace them up. His leg screeched when he tried to tighten them, and that was a battle Wesker couldn’t win. He had left it untied.

It was good enough. It would have to be good enough. Even if the tongue of his boot kept licking against the raw wound, through the filthy fabric, it was going to be good enough.

He loaded his gun, grabbed his coat, and limped into the snow.

The howling had dragged Chris out of bed, more than anything.

He’d woken up chilly, but he could sleep through chilly. Besides, Wesker had started snuggling at some point in the night, and he bled heat into them. Jill was nothing more than a brown mass on Wesker’s shoulder, mashed into his back, snoring gently. She was probably drooling, too. Jill had never been a graceful sleeper.

Chris snorted and ruffled Wesker’s hair, delighting in the way it slipped through his fingers. He was a little warmer than he should have been- Chris wasn’t surprised by that though, the shed wasn’t the cleanest place in the world.

But that was something to worry about later, because Chris could hear howling. Ghoulish, nasty howling, like something screaming out of two mouths. Some animal that had been wounded from a trap, probably, crying out its death throes.

He knew that he should probably pay it no mind and go back to snuggling. It wasn’t likely that Captain Wesker would come and cuddle again, let alone get as intimate as they had last night.

He grinned at the thought. Wesker was a tight-ass in more than one way.

He snickered and planted a kiss on the top of his head. Wesker’s face crinkled and he clung tighter, long fingers curling into Chris’ back.

The howling came again. He couldn’t leave something like that to die painfully.

He sighed. It was a good thing Wesker slept like the dead, apparently, because prising himself out of the man’s hug was like pulling teeth.

“Never would’ve pegged you as clingy,” Chris grumbled, finally getting Wesker to curl in on himself. He tapped Jill on the shoulder. “Hey, I think there’s something freaky around.”

“’S not _freaky_ ‘til biggy straps…”

“ _Jill_ ,” He hissed, “wake _up_.”

Jill flapped one of her arms at him. He caught it and tugged.

“Mmph? What’s the fire?”

“There’s something nasty outside. Mind spotting for me?”

“Wrong term…”

“Why are you so useless in the morning?”

He eventually managed to drag her out of bed. “What about him?” Jill asked.

“I don’t think it’ll take long. Besides, he’s tired. He’s not waking up.” He passed her coat over, “Let’s go.”

She shook her head. “One of us should stay with him. Besides, I’m sure you can deal with a wolf, Mr Marksman.”

“Hey, that’s not nice. They might have rabies.”

“So? Shots exist now. Look, I’ll be dressed, okay? If you think there’s trouble, shout for me.”

Chris rolled his eyes and smiled at her, “you just want to stay in bed.”

“Guilty as charged officer. But seriously, go deal with the screaming things. I want a turn in the middle of the sandwich.”

Chris cringed but waved all the same.

Ten minutes later, he screamed.

Ten minutes later, Jill shot out of the shack.

There were something like footsteps, torn up and muddy in the half-fresh snow. The sun was barely creeping over the horizon. A gentle haze of it fell, sweet as a Christmas Card; the woods, the snow, the sunrise.

Wesker absolutely hated it. It was cold and wet and everything about the haphazard paws-feet-paws suggested there’d been an incident. Spatters of red. From him? No, the snow would have covered it.

His head ached more with each haphazard step, fumbling like a baby deer. Bouncing from tree to tree. Following the path- was it a rock, he tripped on? A branch? Another corpse?

He was going to kill them and his head would clear. They’d infected him with so much warmth that he’d reached fever pitch, and he was going to kill them.

Just keep going. Just another step forwards. The mansion was a disgusting haze and it reeked of rot when Wesker arrived, leaning on one of the fences where the soup of mud and snow gave way to the entry. There would be someone here. There would be corpses.

His body burnt. He pushed off the fence and pushed past the entrance, one of the side places that had the traces of melt.

_Grawgh…_

He lurched to the side, just in time for a mass of matted fur to fly past him, wetness splatting over his face. He didn’t need glasses to see what it was- grey, bloody and limping on one side. The thing Chris had shot yesterday.

“How are you _alive?_ ” He hissed, drawing his gun and trying to ignore the trembling.

It snarled and charged.

It was easier, now that he was on dry ground- tattered old carpets were easier to pivot on, to avoid snapping jaws and filthy claws- covered in the same filth from the forest, the filth that was creeping and crawling up his leg, into his blood-

Wesker shot. The recoil rumbled through his bones, leg off balance, arms trembling, and he stepped back. Fell back.

There was a hole in the wall and it was still alive, milky eyes focused on him. Two things the same. Filth and dirt that stank of decay, sweat and blood, souring in the cold air.

He was going to die. Wesker knew it. He was going to die before he had a chance to murder anyone, and the only people who might find his corpse were Umbrella. He would die and live, only to die again, a breeding ground for viruses-

But not like this.

Wesker snarled, shooting off wildly. It was like he’d taken all the pain in his leg and his heart and forced them into each shot, ruining the stained walls, the statues, every trace that the Spencer Mansion had ever been _artful_.

The oversized mutt yelped. Wesker stood up, shaking, and stamped on its head. Hard as he could. Hard as he ever could, smashing through bones and brains until they would never come out of his clothes. There should have been silence.

There wasn’t. He could hear grunts, howls- _human_ shouts- someone to kill. Someone to help?

The world flashed so fast between hot and cold that he couldn’t keep up. His skin was frigid from the cool air on his sweaty, red skin, but inside he was on fire. He was dehydrating, he was burning, and he was going to die.

Not yet.

It was too hot. The world rolled and churned with every limping step. He couldn’t recall reloading- he couldn’t think enough. The gun needed to be reloaded. Wesker needed to- to find someone. The Mansion’s mechanisms groaned as he knocked into things, a fumbling newborn fresh in the world, following noises.

Following _them_. Blood and mud.

_Crash!_

Wood splintering and dust clouds. He limped as quickly as he could, letting out small, ragged grunts from the white-hot pain, holding onto his gun for dear life.

There was a body at his feet. A body through the wall, bleeding- short hair, muscles, he couldn’t _focus_ because he was just too hot-

“Chris!”

_Chris._

Bleeding, pale, standing, shaking. Chris.

“Fuck- Fuck! Wesker!”

There were hands on him. Cold as ice. Colder than outside, feeling up his neck.

“Wesker, there’s _monsters_ in here, you need to get out- now!”

The safety clicked off his gun. Pointing it between them, less than half a chance of hitting-

He never had a chance to fire. The wall shattered as a _monster_ that might have been a dog at some point destroyed the rest of the wall, tossing Wesker aside. It had oozing tumours, pus caught up in the remnants of its fur- a second head bursting out of its shoulder, like a baby being born. It stank, worse than any of the rot from before, worse than his own leg.

It was closing in on Jill. He heard gunshots. He heard Chris, screaming, Jill’s furious swearing and his own gun laid useless at his side.

Christ, his head hurt. His leg hurt. At least before, he’d been able to put weight on it. Now it felt like the bone was sliding, stabbing into his flesh, pus leaking into him.

He already knew he would die. There was no getting away from it. And Chris and Jill would die, and they’d all be eaten. No one would know what happened.

Screaming.

“Wesker! Wesker, for fuck’s sake, _run_!”

And. That wouldn’t do.

“Ugh- why doesn’t it go down?! What the hell is happening here?!”

He was going to die anyway. No one would know what happened to him, except for Umbrella. Not unless Jill and Chris got away.

Something burned in his stomach. They would die, one day, and if there were an afterlife he’d have time to shout about being forgotten and left alone but-

That wasn’t today.

The Spencer Mansion was full of tricks, and he knew all of them. He gritted his teeth so hard they must have cracked as he hopped along, feeling the walls, trying to find the trigger for _something_.

A panel creaked. Bingo.

He slammed into it as hard as he could. Something shifted. Howled. There was a sudden burst of heat and screaming, ploughing into his body, blowing him back-

Choking from smoke, temperature dropped.

“Wesker? Wesker! Albert!”

He was laying in the mud and snow again. The mansion was burning. He was burning. Blood and fire. Jill’s boots speeding off somewhere, Chris kneeling next to him, clutching his hand.

“Albert, don’t close your eyes! Hey!”

Wesker drifted off to the sound of a crackling building, burning away its sins.

Beeping. Cool. Clean.

The afterlife looked a lot like a hospital he’d been confined to after a particularly awful night of drinking when he’d been younger and brash. The only difference seemed to be how dim the lights were, really. A soft, off-white glow that didn’t stab into his eyes.

It also took away his sunglasses, apparently. Which meant that either there was a god who would prattle on about truth and windows to the soul, or he was actually in a hospital and alive.

He looked around. The room was fuzzy even when he couldn’t focus his gaze, but the shapes were legible, at least. An IV drip, a blood-pressure monitor, a catheter bag…

Something bad, then. The last moments of the godforsaken trip to the mountains felt more like a terrible old photograph, bloated with water. He just remembered fire. Fire and humiliation.

Wesker shut his eyes again. Wonderful. How to explain setting a prized experiment on fire because he was delirious and running on emotions? He’d never hear the end of it. Hell, Irons would probably use it as a way to get leverage on him; behold your prized employee, Umbrella, the man who wasted a few million dollars because he got laid.

If he was _lucky_ he’d be put on a bullshit office job, on the shortest leash imaginable, for that stunt. More likely, he’d get to join the other failures on death row, to be jabbed full of viruses and left to die.

At least there’d be an interesting report from it. The weight dropped in his stomach, bubbling up, bile and acid-

Thank the _lord_ for the little buckets. Wesker threw up, not that there was much in his guts. Sourness rested in the back of his throat, and he drooled down his chin. Disgusting. His head felt like someone stabbed into his temples. He wiped off the drool with the back of his hand and laid down, muscles uncurling. He knew he needed to care about _something_ happening, do something, but he was just too tired. Tired and in pain. It was a wonder he had been able to turn around and puke.

The energy drained out of him, he focused on breathing. It didn’t take long until he was out.

Next time, there was mumbling. Blurry figures, wearing scrubs, checking machines and giving him warm smiles. A doctor came in at some point, asking how he felt, explaining things- he was in isolation, he’d been brought in as an emergency. That made sense, in retrospect. A wound, high fever, delusion. No wonder.

He drifted in and out of reality, the lights still dim. He was stuck in a hospital, with nothing else to do, after all. It was like all the sleep he’d missed over the years hit him at once.

It was almost enough to ignore the loneliness. He couldn’t help it. He’d been brought in and left alone. Not even a word on visitors.

It hurt, even if he did expect it. He should have been thankful they hadn’t just had him arrested, given that he’d pointed a gun right at them.

Wesker sighed. He needed to work out what he would do, because there was no way he’d be allowed back into work- the nurses said his leg would take a couple of months to heal- and he wasn’t about to be stuck at a desk job with _Irons_ at the helm.

Maybe he’d resign. Put it down to the leg and go back to full time science.

He was somewhere between virology and murder when the door opened, ruffling the curtains, and Chris Redfield came in like a bear hunting for trash.

“There you are!”

Wesker froze. Maybe if he stayed very still, Chris would think he was still asleep.

“They only just let visitors in to see you, you know that? Hey, Jill! I found him!” 

Jill shouted something back. “She’s signing in. Apparently if we don’t do that, security can come and get us out.”

Chris did not think he was sleeping.

“Why?”

“Probably so they have a list of anyone trying to murder people. Or steal drugs. Though I guess you’ve been running a pretty decent supply of them, your leg made someone throw up when they unwrapped it.”

Jill came trotting in with a grin, “I signed us in as _officers_ Redfield and Valentine, you should’ve seen their faces- _priceless.”_ She fixed her gaze on Wesker, “Wow, you look like shit.”

He scowled.

“Just stating the facts, Captain. We bought you a crossword.”

“Haha.”

Though nothing could be that easy. He let the silence drop on them, waiting for the penny to drop, for someone to break. It wouldn’t be him. He’d shown enough weakness for a lifetime.

“So,” Jill said, awkward, “did they tell you what happened?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re better now?”

“Mostly.”

Dead silence, again. It hung heavy in the air. Like the snow and mud had followed them to the hospital, suffocated them under its weight.

“I’m sorry.”

Wesker’s eyes went wide, snapping his head to stare straight at Jill.

“About…everything. I was the one who pressured you in the shed. It wasn’t right. I took advantage of you.”

Wesker blinked. Well. That hadn’t been expected.

Chris sighed, “we got carried away. Not that it really matters but…we’re sorry. If you want to send us to other departments then…well, I’d get it. We’d deserve it.”

It was tempting. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t tempting to throw them both out and get them blacklisted, follow his original plan to stab them in the back.

The sex had been fun. He’d even enjoyed the cuddling and the washing, having other people touching him.

“Why did you leave me alone?”

Neither of them seemed to think about that. They blinked at each other, and even in the low light he could see the pretty flush on the pair of them. “In the shed. I was…concerned.”

An understatement, but neither of them needed to know that. They broke from their gazes.

“That…wasn’t planned,” Jill said, slowly.

Chris cringed, “I didn’t think I’d need to leave a note! You were still there!”

“And I said I’d come follow if you were in trouble! You screamed!”

“Could we please,” said Wesker, whose headache was coming back full force, “have this argument later? I am still quite tired.”

“Yes Captain.”

“Sorry Captain.”

Silence, again. He was getting sick of it, now that it had been ripped away once and unveiled a gold vein of truth. “And if we’re outside of work, you don’t have to call me Captain. Wesker is fine.” He took a breath. “Or…Albert. I think we’ve gotten to know each other enough for that. If you’d like.”

There was an admission in there. It was just a case of watching them pick it up, their faces going from confused to stunned to beaming.

“Albert,” said Chris, like he was testing it on his tongue, “how would you like to know us…a little better?”

“I’m still in a hospital bed, Chris.”

“Not right now! Er, not like that anyway! Christ Cap- Albert.” He shook his head, “I mean. We- Jill and me- we…wouldn’t mind helping you chill out a bit more. Get to know you outside of work. Though, if you don’t want to, that’s fine-“

“What Chris is trying to say,” said Jill, “is that we like you, and that if you don’t want to hop into sex, that’s fine. Hell, if you just want sex, that’s fine. You’re a very attractive man, after all.”

Wesker didn’t blush. Anyone that said he did was a liar.

“Or at the very least, when you’re released, give us a call and we’ll come to pick you up, yeah? We can…get pizza or something. Whatever you feel like.”

“…I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

Time ticked on and they talked about nothing. When the sun started to set, Jill and Chris were ready to leave.

“I really did bring a crossword,” Jill said, tucking it at his side with a pen, “so I hope that keeps you occupied for a little while.”

“Thank you.”

He lifted his hand to bring her face close to him, planting the same, chaste kiss she’d given him in the shack. “You too, come here, Chris.”

Feeling Chris smile against his skin was his favourite part of…this. They both returned the favour before leaving, letting Wesker droop into a contented sleep. Think about it, yeah right. _Dream_ about it, more like.


	6. This is the Other One With the Porn

Wesker had been having quite a bad day, and as usual, it was all Brian Irons’ fault. Oh, the man hadn’t done anything to him _personally_ , he’d never dare. It was more that he was a blight on the world, one that couldn’t be stomped out of existence soon enough.

But mostly, it was because the doctor had told him to take a very long time off work, and Chief Irons had decided to send paperwork to his house. The winter had settled in properly, the afternoon tinged in a tell-tale orange that always called out, _warning, warning, the night is coming_.

He had no need to keep his heating down, but Raccoon City wasn’t exactly a well-ventilated place. It would become an inferno inside in seconds. He supposed he could just put a cardigan over his turtleneck, or even throw a coat on but that was likely to get uncomfortable- too many thick layers.

He couldn’t be bothered to change into something else. His leg throbbed from the chill. It was healing up nicely, according to the doctor, but it still had a long way to go.

Wesker sighed. His phone waited in the corner, tantalising. Other people did it, right? Just…called friends over for food, just because? They had said he could call. Hell, they’d come over a few times, even when it wasn’t time for work. Fuck knew how STARS was going to function when it turned out their captain was fucking his subordinates. Or being fucked by his subordinates.

It probably didn’t matter that much. He was overthinking things.

“Hello?”

“Chris?”

“Albert! How’s things?”

“They’re fine. Just boring. Very boring…”

“Colour me stunned. You don’t like the paperwork? You don’t get a tingle from the update on the lady with the stolen cat?”

Wesker snickered, “Oh it’s thrilling. Who needs company when you have papers to sign? Well, aside from me. Would you like to come over?”

“Not distracting you from work?”

“Not unless you want to distract me. It may even be a two-person job.”

He could picture Chris smiling, broad and just a touch mischievous. “Should I tell Jill to bring her toys?”

Wesker shivered. “Oh yes. I think you’ll need them.”

When he moved to Raccoon City, Wesker bought a king-sized bed. It had been a thing of practicality, more than anything else, he was tall, single beds didn’t have enough room width wise, so he bought a king-sized bed. A beautiful thing made of mahogany, mattress soft enough to melt in, and sheets that had been tossed onto the floor in seconds.

Chris stood naked at the end of the bed, stroking his cock just out of reach of Wesker’s mouth. He finally had a chance to look at it properly- it was a solid seven inches, thick and juicy as precum slowly dripped from the tip. Pink and lush, half-hard already, and Wesker wanted to take him as far as he could go.

“You’re a really good boy, Albert,” sighed Chris, “you’re so patient. Jill will be here soon and then you can have it.”

“Chris,” he whined, “please.”

“No can do. You just sit back and keep your weight off that leg, and maybe I’ll warm you up.”

Wesker groaned but did as he was told. He’d had individual experiences before. Chris swallowing him up as he ploughed into him, whisper how _beautiful_ he was. Chris pinning his wrists down while he rode Wesker’s cock, face ablaze with pleasure. Chris was patience, always patient, rocking into him at his own pace, until Wesker was a sweaty wreck.

Jill too, the way she would lay him out, so he could pleasure her, hands and teeth and tongue, while she smiled and toyed with his ass. Sometimes a finger, sometimes a toy- one occasion where his doctor had looked at him _very_ judgmentally and told him squats were out of the question (even if she had given him a very kind apology blowjob, and then let him rest his head in her boobs).

So, god only knew what they’d be like together. Patience clashing with pushiness, sweet and salty. Wesker’s dick was already starting to get hard, and he hadn’t touched it yet. “That’s it,” Chris moaned as Wesker licked his lips, “Jill will be here soon. Says she’s got a surprise for you. Something you’ll really like.”

“I’m going to give you all the paperwork if you’re going to tease.”

Chris let go of his cock and grinned at Wesker, moving to lay at the head of the bed. Wesker scrambled to meet him, wincing a little when he put too much weight on his leg, caught by Chris’ steady hands.

“Now Captain,” he said, pulling Wesker up onto his chest so he could kiss his cheeks, “that’s not nice.”

 _Smack_!

Wesker gasped, muttering curses into Chris’ neck as the other man laughed, rubbing his ass with a big, warm hand. “I’m glad you don’t wear tight pants to work, Albert. I’d get fired because I wouldn’t get anything done.”

“As if you get much done _anyway_ -“

_Smack!_

“You don’t mean that.” Chris beamed at him. “Just because I’m not good at paperwork, doesn’t mean I don’t do work!”

Wesker’s ass stung. Nevertheless, teasing Chris was just too much fun. A wicked smile spread across his face. “Getting fucked in the showers isn’t work, Chris.” Another slap. “Eating your co-worker out when you’re meant to be getting dressed isn’t work either. And Chris?”

His hand was already hovering over Wesker’s ass, ready to leave a mark.

“I might suck you off for motivation, if it gets the work done.”

 _That_ got him the hardest slap of all, hard enough that he arched up and let out a little sob before all the tension flooded out, overwhelmed by endorphins. He kissed Chris on the mouth, nipping at his lower lip, asking to be let in.

Chris just rubbed his ass instead, squeezing him, never going towards his hole. He’d pulled away from Wesker’s lips, instead mouthing all up his neck, sucking hickies into his pale flesh.

Wesker tried to rock his hips. Their dicks were trapped between their bellies, warm and tight and nowhere near slick enough to get off comfortably, but at least it would be getting off. Chris’ hands clamped down on his hipbones, tutting.

“Be patient.”

Wesker keened before he went slack, hands on his thighs. Chris just tutted again.

“Put them around my neck. You’ll try to touch from there.”

And he obeyed. His stomach felt tight, all the muscles constricted with the effort of being a good boy, of staying still while Chris teased him. All Wesker could do was grit his teeth and clench his fists.

The door clicked open and his heart stopped. Light, careful steps and a thunk, fabric shifting, warm hands on his shoulders.

“Chris are you being nasty to the poor man?”

“Me?” He said innocently, pinching Wesker’s ass and snickering at the squeak, “no, never. We’re just learning patience. Rutting against people is rude, Albert.”

“I’ll show you rude,” he muttered, burying his face. He heard Jill laugh and she trailed down his spine, slow and sensual.

“So, you didn’t touch him at all then?”

“Of course not. He needs to be warmed up though.”

She smiled, parting his cheeks to expose him, a thumb thoughtfully rubbing over his rim. Not inside, not yet.

“ _Good.”_

They must have been talking about what they would do to him, because Chris moved him without so much as a word from Jill. Brought his face to his cock, nudging it against his cheek, while Jill lifted his hips up. He could feel her breath ghosting over him, and it made his ass twitch. She grabbed his cock.

“Now, Albert,” she said, patiently, “You’re going to suck Chris off, alright? You’re going to give him the blow job of a lifetime. Tap him three times on the thigh if you need him to stop.”

He nodded. Chris’ cock was waiting for him.

“Good. Go on then, don’t worry about me. I’m just going to have some fun back here.”

That should have raised alarms, honestly, but as long as he was on a bed, it shouldn’t have been too much trouble. He started kissing inside Chris’ thighs, gently nipping the sensitive skin, avoiding his dick. Smoothing his hands over his thighs, enjoying the tickling hair on his palms, the way Chris would startle when he breathed around his balls. He kissed those too, soft skin in his mouth, let the other hand come to cradle them. Stroking. Gentle.

Serve him right for being such a tease. It had taken Jill an hour to get there, and he thought Chris deserved some torment.

Chris threaded a hand through his hair, not tugging or scratching. Just holding it there, staring down at Wesker with love-drunk eyes.

“Wish we had a mirror in here,” he chuckled, “you’re both so beautiful. Wish I could show you how good you look.”

“Mmhmm…” Wesker hummed, letting a finger drift to his perineum, circling the soft, warm skin. It was so unlike Chris, who was all angles and prickly edges, to have something as soft as it. And he was letting Wesker touch it.

“Don’t you hum at me. It’s true. You look like you were born to be down there.”

Jill giggled. Wesker rolled his eyes, leaving wet, open-mouth kisses all up the shaft, still not touching, not sucking. “You’re just trying to make me move faster.”

“Well I’m not just trying to do that.”

“I thought you were trying to teach him patience?”

“Sssh.”

Wesker shook his head, running his tongue up Chris’ thighs and down his cock, just skipping over the head. Everything tasted salty, a unique tang for a wonderful man, and Wesker would lick up every drop if it meant he got to hear Chris whine and moan, still his hand and grip his hair.

“ _Albert_ ,” Chris groaned, “ _please_.”

He gave Chris’ balls one last kiss, and finally turned to his head. Cherry-pink and just as juicy, now that it was free from his foreskin. Wesker gave it a chaste little kiss and Chris squirmed.

Well, there’d be time in the future to tease him more. Wesker traced the veins of his cock with his finger and closed over its head. Chris was big, big enough that even the head was heavy on his tongue- Wesker had to loosen his jaw so he could take more, take it deeper into his mouth so he could really love on Chris’ cock.

Jill had her hands on his ass, and he felt something warm and wet lathe against his hole. It was electric, a sudden dip into cold water, and if it weren’t for Chris’ hand in his hair, he would have shot up.

She licked again. Pressing the flat of her tongue against his rim, sampling it slowly- sometimes pulling away to gently blow on it and make him shiver, which made Chris shudder as it seeped into Wesker’s sucking. She was kissing and nipping and him, and god if it didn’t go right to his dick.

But Chris’ dick was more important. He pulled off for a second, catching his breath, and dived back in- using one of his hands to hold it steady, stroking him slowly, like a musician tuning a violin while he lavished attention on the head. He’d started following Jill, he was sure of it- when she kissed, he kissed, when she licked, he licked and when she was bold enough to press her tongue past his tight ring, warm and wet and wonderful inside him, Wesker _swallowed_.

Chris almost screamed. He felt his muscles tighten under his hand, smoothing his skin like a reassurance as Wesker took as much of him into his mouth as he could. Swirling his tongue over it, pianoing the length that he just couldn’t take, and pulling off to do it all over again. Chris kicked out, he was sure of it, when Wesker massaged the glans with his tongue- alternating too slow and too fast until Chris was heaving.

Jill hummed. and his attention went back to his ass. Now that he’d gotten used to it, it wasn’t so much electric as _pleasant_ , a massage for his sensitive regions, and the vibrations warmed him right up. Before he could think he rolled his hips back.

Her hand pressed down on his back and forced him deeper onto Chris’ cock. Tears welled up in his eyes- he was so big. So thick. He was going to choke Albert to death, end up stuck in his mouth, and Wesker would be alright with that as long as he got to cum.

Jill pulled off with a happy sigh, “Next time I’m bringing flavoured lube.”

Wesker laughed around Chris’ cock, swallowing the precum down. Chris had really grabbed his hair now, tight and tough, as if he really wanted to force Wesker down.

Cold lube being massaged into his ass. Sliding inside so it would make him slick in there too, just as slick and velvet soft as Jill was, just _tighter_. He wished she could feel it.

A hand at the small of his back. The tip lined up.

“Ready?”

Unwilling to pull off, he gave her a thumbs up. And with her short laugh, she started to press inside.

He shuddered and stilled on Chris while his rim stretched around her toy- it was a ribbed one, this time, with little bumps. He could feel them rubbing his rim, stretching it gradually, making it as comfortable as they could. Wesker moaned around Chris’ cock, stretching his mouth just as well as Jill was stretching his ass.

Her thighs hit his as she bottomed out.

“You know something interesting, Albert?”

“Mm?”

“This one has a vibrate setting.”

It switched on and Wesker’s world changed.

He knew he enjoyed anal. But anal with a regular strap on was nothing compared to Jill’s new friend, flexing and moving inside him like an explorer hunting though a forest. He gripped Chris’ thigh, only half-hearing his groans, trying to remember how to suck as her dildo buzzed inside him. Jill going hard from the start, just a few slow rolls before she started to pound him, driving it deeper inside, letting more of the bumps hit him, caress him, touch him where literally no one else had.

She was moaning in his ear, hands on his hips for purchase. The world was white noise and nothing more as they thrust out of synch, Chris desperate enough to pull him down, Jill slamming hard enough that his thighs felt like they’d been slapped, and him, the animal in the middle, getting destroyed. He couldn’t tell what he was doing. He was just chasing pleasure, like a moth to a flame, hips moving and mouth humming out cries to never stop, _never_ -

Chris thrust into his mouth and hot, salty cum spilt into him, coating his throat, his tongue, his lips as Chris pulled out. His cock was still twitching and Wesker wanted more, trying to take it in, desperate and he didn’t know _why_.

Jill’s breath hitched, and she groaned. Her hips stilled while the strap on was deep inside him, and it was only as he wriggled for more that she started to thrust again, slow and sloppy, hissing. Sensitive.

He tried to find his voice and couldn’t. He felt tears on his neck.

“Jill?” He croaked out, “you can stop. Don’t worry.”

He heard her sniffle. She kissed his shoulder and felt the strap on come out, gently as it could, well slicked up. The buzzing stopped, and the tears didn’t. Jill was hiccupping against his back while Chris sat uselessly in bed, hand still in Wesker’s hair.

He was still horny, cock solid and aching. Eventually, Jill moved- pushed herself off his back so she could lay down on the bed, dragging Wesker with her, until he was between her breasts. A comforting weight for her, not that he could say he didn’t like it. She was soft enough to nuzzle in, letting his eyes shut, ignoring the tightness in his groin. It could wait.

Chris moved closer, tilting her head so he could wipe her tears away, kissing her temple before turning his attention to Wesker. He’d never felt so tired and so eager all at once. He wanted a drink, a nap, and maybe five minutes alone in the bathroom.

“Hey,” Chris said, “spread your legs?”

He did. His erection bobbed proudly, red and ready to go, dripping precum.

Chris didn’t bother with teasing. He just closed over Wesker’s cock and hummed. Sucking him in, tongue curling, two fingers pressing into his loose and sloppy asshole. Curling up to his prostate.

Jill kept her arms wrapped around his ribs, watching with interest.

“You can thrust up,” she sniffled, “he likes that.”

He met Chris’ eyes. Chris closed them and hummed.

So Wesker thrusted. It felt _good_ , finally being allowed to move, pushing into Chris’ silky, hot mouth. The fingers moving in and out, grazing the gland, while he watched Chris’ lips move up and down his cock-

He let go with a soft moan, cumming in Chris’ mouth, and finally going slack. Every tendon inside him snapped, every muscle useless and relaxed. Christ.

They stayed like that for a few moments, Chris’ suckling the last of the cum out before he came back up to kiss Wesker- salty and bittersweet, mixing with Chris. Disgusting. Wonderful.

They weren’t mutually exclusive, after all. Wesker sighed and smiled, pulling Jill to snuggle under his chin, kissing the corners of her mouth until she lost patience and kissed _him_. Chris snuggled around both of them, nosing into Wesker’s hair.

He felt safe like that. Warm. He’d been fucked into sloppiness and he couldn’t give a shit, letting Chris ruin his hair even more while Jill got snot on his mattress. At least she would apologise, in the morning. Chris would just grin at him and say that he should wear it more often.

“Hey,” Jill whispered, tears finally gone as the adrenaline left them, “anyone want a shower?”

Wesker wiped his face. It was sticky and starting to itch.

“I’d rather have a bath.”

“You don’t have a bath big enough for three people.”

“If you sit on someone’s lap, I do.”

“Albert!”

Chris laughed at both of them, stopping the argument by sweeping both of them up into an underarm carry, right into Wesker’s bathroom. Jill won on the washing part, at least, scrubbing at their faces, but no one could resist the bath. Wesker rarely had time to relax on his own, after all. It was nice to share it with people.

They ended up laying in the bathtub, bubbles floating around, pressed against each other. Jill had ended up taking Chris’ lap, leaning back on his chest while Wesker snuck kisses in when he went to wash them. It smelt of lavender, dreamy, dusty lavender, and it was enough to make them yawn.

“Is food still on?” Chris asked. “I’m starving.”

“Takes about forty minutes to get here,” Wesker said, tossing him a menu, “Go nuts, I’ve got money.”

“I’d hope so, you’re the one that invited us.” Jill yawned. “I want a nap first. Pegging takes work.”

“A nap sounds good, actually.”

“Agreed.”

With a pizza ordered and an alarm set, they snuggled back into bed, tangled as close as they could be. Wesker heard their heartbeats, pressed up so close. For the first time in a long time, he felt…relaxed. Calm. _Content_.

Fuck Umbrella. He’d found his happy place, and he was keeping it.

Good thing Chief Irons had all those terrible documents. All Wesker had to do was break in, and that would be child’s play.

Besides, he thought, there was a good chance the other two would _help_ him do it. He’d always wanted to see Jill’s ‘master of unlocking’ skills in display.

With a final snicker, he settled down. His leg hadn’t ached all night.


End file.
